


I'll Love You Forever and a Day

by PrincessReinette



Category: Original Work
Genre: Divorce, F/M, Gen, It's been a long day, Miscarriage mention, Unnamed characters - Freeform, i cried a lot writing this okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-08
Packaged: 2019-07-27 23:43:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16229753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessReinette/pseuds/PrincessReinette
Summary: "Will you help me make my bed?"A mother's love never grows cold.





	I'll Love You Forever and a Day

“ _Will you help me make my bed?_ ”

At six years old the girl had just begun to appreciate the feeling of fresh sheets. She wasn’t tall enough to pull the tricky edges of the fitted sheet over the corners, though, even while standing on the step-stool she used to climb into bed every night. Her mom came in right away, daintily settling the soft white fabric on the bed. The little girl beamed and jumped up onto her four-poster, giggling at the slight admonishment from her mother.

 

“ _Will you help me make my bed?_ ”

At nine years old the girl could change the sheets, kind-of, but her mom did a better job. They tugged the sheets into place and then the girl closed the door behind her mother, whispering a thank-you. She was tired and unhappy and just wanted to sleep.

 

“ _Will you help me make my bed?_ ”

By sixteen she was perfectly capable of changing the bedding herself, even with the sturdy white wooden frame towering above her, enveloped by gauzy curtains. This was an apology though; the girl had been rude and had yelled and was angry even though she didn’t know why. Her mother slipped into the room and silently helped tuck in the sheets at the footboard, a perfect hospital-style corner replacing the messy tuck the girl had hastily put together. When they were finished the girl ducked her head and let out a sigh when her mom ran her hand over her shoulders, a tiny sign of forgiveness.

 

“ _Will you help me make my bed_?”

At eighteen she was already two years into college, pursuing a math degree, and she was trying so hard to be strong. She was sick, though, and she was home for Christmas and fresh sheets sounded like heaven. Her mother brought in the deep gold set, a gentle reminder that her daughter was still struggling with her inconsistent menstrual cycle after the miscarriage, and fluffed the pillows when they were done. The girl didn’t notice the new box of tissues and a package of Saltines until she woke up nauseous in the middle of the night.

 

“ _Will you help me make my bed_?”

Her twenty-first birthday had brought nothing but tumultuous emotions, and the girl was tired. Her mom was visiting for yet another ceremony – the girl was a prodigy, just as her parents predicted – and she just wanted to fall into bed and be held. She didn’t know how to ask; twenty-one years was a long way away from being cuddled as a child. Together they changed the grey sheets for the softer ivory ones, and she fell into sleep faster than she expected.

 

“ _Will you help me make my bed_?”

The girl was a woman now, twenty-eight years old, body swollen with her second child. Another little boy. Seven months in she could hardly bend over to pick up the toys littered across the living room. The pregnancy had been rough and she had given up her strict rules about neatness. Her husband was traveling (again) so her mother was staying over to help with her grandson. She had washed the sheets and all the woman wanted was to lay down and lock the door for a few minutes of peace. She loved her son, but he was a handful on a good day. Her mom changed the sheets efficiently and swept her grandson out of the room, promising ice cream after dinner if he kept quiet for a while.

 

“ _Will you help me make my bed_?”

At thirty-five years old she didn’t need the help, not anymore, but the divorce had been harsh and she was exhausted. While she saved up for a new house, the woman (and oh how she wished she was a little girl again) and her two growing boys had moved in with her parents. Her mom came in quickly and quietly, fixed up the bed, and pulled her daughter into a long hug. Both of them had tears streaking down powdered faces when her mother left the room.

 

“ _Will you help me make my bed_?”

The call from the guest suite startled the woman. Fifty-two years old found her with an empty nest, a dead father, and an ailing mother who had been living with her for six months now. She covered the distance to the suite quickly and saw her mother, now frail at eighty-three, struggling with the sheets.

“Always, mom. Always.”


End file.
